


Turning Circles

by kiss_me_cassie



Series: Hockey 'Verse [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Developing Relationship, F/M, Hockey, Ice Skating, Toe Pick!, figure skating, puck bunny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6871051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiss_me_cassie/pseuds/kiss_me_cassie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting noticed by a small-town, minor league hockey player shouldn't have gotten her this hot and bothered. Why then, was Natasha exactly that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning Circles

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the longest fic I've written in a decade. (The West Wing ones don't count, since they were mostly already written years ago.) It's also the first completely AU fic I've ever written. I really have no idea what's come over me. 
> 
> Many thanks to Ella for the early cheerleading and to Alphaflyer for correcting my atrocious sentence structuring (and for her very good advice in other areas too! :))

It was hard not to notice her. She was small, with shockingly bright hair, and sitting right up front next to the glass, waving a team banner and cheering like nobody's business at every play. She'd first shown up during the third game of the season and had kept showing up for every home game since then.

Clint tried not to watch her too much; it wasn't good for his game to get distracted. But really, how was he supposed to ignore her? Especially with that hair and all the jiggling that was going on across the ice. And those eyes… 

She'd caught him staring at her one time and he'd noticed how bright and green they were. He'd had a hard time looking away. But then Coach had called a line change and he'd reluctantly pulled his thoughts away from her and immersed himself in the game. They'd won 3 to 1 that night, and they'd kept on winning, just like she kept cheering them on.

He was starting to consider her their lucky charm.

He wondered what her story was. Was she one of Anthony Stark's latest prizes, eschewing a seat in the owner's suite to sit closer to the action? 

Or maybe she knew someone on the team? That seemed unlikely, though. All the guys had noticed Clint watching her and some had even ribbed him about it. If one of them knew her, they would have mentioned it by now. Some of his teammates even had bets on when Clint and the redhead would stop silently flirting with each other. They wanted to know when they'd actually do something about their obviously mutual attraction. Clint didn't think there was anything mutual _or_ obvious about it, but as much as he liked Rogers, Odinson and the rest of them, it was pointless trying to convince them of that.

A huge cheer went up from the crowd and he pulled his thoughts away from her to focus on Banner. His lucky green goalie's helmet had been knocked off, but Clint could tell from the smile on the guy’s face that he'd just saved a stray puck from sneaking into the goal.

Clint’s gaze moved back the the redhead again. What was her story?

\---

He was watching her again, and Natasha couldn't ignore the little thrill that ran through her because of it. A thrill that had nothing to do with the game and everything to do with him. A thrill that had taken her completely unawares the first time their eyes had met, but that kept on happening again and again. 

It was ridiculous. Getting noticed by a small-town, minor league hockey player shouldn't have gotten her this hot and bothered. She'd been around athletes most of her life; she wasn't some awestruck groupie. She'd even dated the Winter Soldier, for goodness sake, and he was one of hockey's most notorious players. They had ended badly - her uncle's reach went far and wide and he'd been sure to poison their relationship in the hopes of getting Natasha back under his wing - but still… 

Her attraction to Clint Barton was well and beyond anything she'd ever felt before and it was getting absolutely ridiculous.

She was a grown women. Grown women didn't react this way to men they'd never even met. But she couldn't deny there was something about this man that made him different, something that made her extra aware of him and made her want to get to know more about him. _What was it_? 

Maybe it was his slightly smushed nose, and her desire to find out what had happened there. Was it one too many breaks or something else entirely? Maybe it was the way that even after brawling with an opponent on the ice, he always checked to make sure that the other player was all right at the end of the game. Or maybe it was simply the way he seemed to get along so well with his teammates. Whenever he was on the bench, which wasn't often, she could see, even from this distance, the camaraderie between them.

Whatever it was, she found her gaze drifting from the game to him over and over. 

It was girly and juvenile and very much out of character for her. Yet every weekend she found herself taking advantage of her boss' relationship with the team owner to gain admittance to the arena just so she could watch him.

It was humiliating.

The buzzer rang for the last period and she took a deep breath before standing up and heading to the owner's suite. It was time to use her boss' influence again to get one last favor.

\---

It was after ten when Clint finally exited the locker room, his bag of gear thrown over his shoulder. He was tired and sore after another long day of teaching teenagers how to shoot a bow and an evening playing hockey. All he really wanted to do was go home and go to bed.

The tiredness immediately fled, however, when he noticed the redhead leaning against the concrete wall opposite the locker room, looking for all the world as if she owned the place. He gulped and tried to come up with something witty to say. After all, he'd been lusting after her from across the rink for weeks now. This was his one shot to finally make an impression on her. 

"Uh, hi."

"Hi, yourself," she said. 

She looked cool and composed, wearing a t-shirt with the team's mascot and jeans that didn't hide anything. And there he was feeling anything but cool or composed, in ratty jeans and a hoodie he'd had since he was a teenager.

"You waiting for anyone in particular?" he asked, glancing behind him, even though he was pretty sure he was one of the last players still there. 

"Yes. You." 

She smiled and he was struck dumb by how beautiful she was, which resulted in several seconds ticking by before he finally managed to find his voice. 

"Me?"

She tilted her head and asked, "You are Clint Barton, star forward, right? You don't have a twin lurking in the locker room?"

His lips quirked up in a half smile at that. 

"Nope. Just me."

"Then, yes, I'm definitely waiting for you."

But… "Why?"

"Because I want you to take me to dinner," she said boldly.

"Okay, who put you up to this? Rogers? He knows I've been watching you for weeks now and --" 

Crap, had he really just admitted that? The woman was going to think he was some creepy stalker or something, but there was no taking it back now. 

Thankfully, she didn't seem to react badly to his admission. 

"Weeks?"

He scratched at the back of his neck. 

"Uh, yeah. It's been really hard not to notice you. Believe me, I've tried, but you're very... memorable." 

And beautiful and self-assured and, now that he was standing so close to her, nice smelling, too, and… _oh God_ , he was so out of his league here.

She laughed and Clint kind of forgot whatever else he'd been about to say. What was a woman like her doing waiting around for a guy like him?

\---

If she thought he was attractive from a distance, he was downright delectable up close, especially when he smiled; it took all of her wits to keep up with the conversation. Not that he would know that. Over the years she had learned how to keep her cool outwardly even when she was a mess inside.

"So… dinner?" she asked. 

He nodded. 

"Yeah. There's a small pub not too far from here that's pretty good."

"Ok." Then, realizing belatedly that she knew his name but he didn't know hers, she held out her hand. "I'm Natasha, by the way. Natasha Romanoff."

He took her hand and a little electric shock ran through her. 

"Clint," he said, before adding, "But you knew that already. Listen, do you want to take your car and just follow me?"

 _Just in case you want to bail as soon as we get there_ , was the unspoken tag to to his question. Chivalry or insecurity? She rather thought it was insecurity. Huh. Tucking that little nugget of information away for future inspection, she nodded. 

"Sure. But I don't have a car. I have a motorcycle."

She watched him closely for a reaction. She had the bike because it was good for zipping around town from job to job. Most guys found the fact that she had it intimidating and off-putting; Clint didn't, though. After his initial surprise wore off, a slow grin spread across his face. 

"A bike? Really?"

If possible, his grin got even bigger when she nodded again in confirmation.

She followed him to a little pub not far from the arena and they ordered a couple of beers and burgers. 

"So, uh, you're not one of Anthony Stark's girlfriends, are you?"

She shook her head. 

"No. My boss, Nicholas Fury, runs a company that upgrades and tests computer security systems. I've been working on Stark's network."

"Good. That's… good, right?"

She hid her smile behind her beer. On the ice, he appeared to be imminently confident. Off the ice, he was adorably unsure of himself. 

"Yes, it's good. Besides, I'm pretty sure, despite all the rumors about him, that he's actually in love with his assistant, Pepper."

"I've met her. She's very competent." 

It was clear from the way he said it that Pepper scared him a little. Natasha could understand why. Pepper had scared her a little bit the first time she’d met her, too. She was very efficient at her job and didn't let anyone take advantage of her, including Stark.

"Scarily so," Natasha agreed, munching on a fry. "Stark has a lot of scarily competent women on his staff." 

She took a sip of beer and then said, "So, tell me more about you. It's clear you love hockey, but playing for the minor league can't be enough to live on."

"I get by. Besides, I've got a second gig, teaching archery to some of the young brats up at the nearby prep school." 

She noticed he called them brats, but the affection in his voice was hard to miss. She found herself falling even harder for him.

"Archery?"

His grin was lopsided when he replied. "Not what you expected?"

She shrugged. Nothing about him was what she'd expected, but in a good way that made her want to know so much more. 

"It's a very unique occupation."

"I had a very unique childhood." 

Something about the way he said it made her wonder if _unique_ was just another word for bad. She'd led a _unique_ childhood herself. She could understand. 

"What are your students like?"

"Eh, your typical high school kids, for the most part. A couple are decent archers, but there's this one girl… she's a natural with a bow. She'll probably wind up competing in the Olympics in another few years."

She was surprised. "That good?"

"That good," he said proudly, taking a big bite of burger. "Kate's the exception, though. There aren't many archers as good as either of us in the whole country."

"So how come you aren't headed for the Olympics?"

He shrugged. 

"Archery helped me get by when I was a kid. But hockey saved my life. If it hadn't been for Coach Coulson and hockey, I'd probably be dead right now."

And the way he said _that_ made her want to know not just more, but _everything_. Either that or to jump his bones. But they barely knew each other, and somehow she thought that might be just a little inappropriate at this time. She settled for asking something safe, and the next two hours flew by as they talked and ate and just generally enjoyed each other's company.

When they were done, he walked her out to her bike. 

"You gonna be ok getting home?"

"Yes. Just need my helmet," she said, gesturing to the bright red one that hung from the handlebars. "And maybe a goodnight kiss?"

It was a gamble, but one she was willing to make, despite the butterflies in her stomach.  
And one that paid off in spades, because the moment his lips touched hers, they both forget where they were. In moments, he had her pressed up against her bike, his hands tangling in her hair as his mouth plundered hers.

She hadn't done anything like this since that first year she'd gotten out from under her uncle's iron fist. Her choices then hadn't been all that wise, and had been based mainly on who could help her the most. Her choices now? They were based solely on what she wanted, on _who_ she wanted. And right now, she wanted Clint. Especially since his hands and mouth were doing some delicious things to her, things that made her toes curl and her fingers itch to do more than just hold on to him and his amazing arms.

A car horn honked, somewhere in the distance, startling them both, and they broke apart, each breathing hard. 

Leaning his forehead against hers, Clint was the first to speak, reluctantly admitting, "I have to be at school by eight tomorrow morning." 

She couldn't help the little pout that formed when he said it. She'd been hoping maybe they could take this back to one of their places. 

"I really wish you didn't have to." 

He scrubbed a hand through his hair. 

"Me too." 

"But you do," she said, reluctantly letting him go. "You have a future archery champion to train, and you can't do that without any sleep." 

When he was still hesitant to leave, she gave him a little push towards his car. 

"Go!" 

"Yeah." 

He wore the goofiest smile as he gave her one last quick kiss before turning away. She had to resist the urge to grab him and spin him around so she could kiss him again. 

She was on her bike and adjusting the strap on her helmet when he suddenly turned around and called, "Hey, do you skate?" 

"A little," she admitted hesitantly. 

It was a huge understatement, but good enough for now, she supposed. He'd find out at some point what 'a little' really meant. And maybe she'd even get a chance to tell him about her past. 

"Meet me at the arena around two tomorrow. I'll be done with archery by then and practice won't start until three. We'd have some time together." 

She smiled a little and nodded. 

"Could be fun." 

\--- 

Natasha executed a perfect triple toe loop, then glided towards Clint and stopped mere inches away from him using the obnoxious little toe pick on her skate. 

His eyebrows rose in surprise. Most casual skaters never used that pick. Most casual skaters couldn't do a double jump, nevermind a triple, and certainly not that flawlessly. 

"You're a figure skater?" 

She skated back a few steps and did a little twirl. 

"Not anymore. But twelve years of training is hard to forget." 

He groaned and started to weave around her on the ice. 

"Geez. You had to be a figure skater, didn't you?" 

"You don't like figure skaters?" 

He shrugged and did some fancy footwork of his own. 

"I don't have anything in particular against them." 

"But…?" 

"Who said there's a but?" 

"There's always a but," she said with a laugh. 

She wasn't wrong. 

"But it kinda makes us like that cheesy movie my foster mom liked so much," he finally admitted as he watched her. 

She stopped skating for a moment, and tilted her head, considering. He'd noticed her doing that a lot last night too, tilting her head to the side whenever she was thinking hard about something, or was paying particularly close attention to whatever he'd been saying. It was absolutely adorable. 

"If I recall, they fell in love and and made it to the Olympics in that movie," she finally mused, before skating off and doing another jump. 

Huh. She was good, really good, outstanding actually. Maybe she'd been headed in the same direction once upon a time. 

"What about you? Did you ever want to be in the Olympics?" he asked. 

"My uncle wanted me to," she said darkly, her steps choppy now, no longer smooth and sure like they had been. "I didn't. It's why I'm here and he's still in Russia, pushing my cousin instead of me." 

Ouch. Obviously a sore spot. He didn't know if he should drop it or ask her more. He was mulling it over when his brain caught up with the rest of the conversation -- had she said "in love"? 

He knew he was well past just liking her, but no way would a woman like her fall for a guy like him, in this universe or any other. Things like that just never happened to him. 

"So… those two characters. Falling in love. Is that where this is headed?" he joked, fully expecting her to deflect the question or even just flat out say no. At least then he'd know for sure. It wouldn't help protect his heart, but it'd help prepare him for the eventual trainwreck their relationship was sure to become. 

She skated to a stop not too far away from him, her eyes watching him intently as she admitted, "Well, I've already fallen in lust, so... maybe. Yes." 

He skidded to a halt, barely stopping himself from falling ass over teakettle like a rookie, and she laughed. 

"Last night didn't give you a clue?" 

"Uh…" 

She came right up to him and pulled him down for a kiss, taking him by surprise yet again. 

"You should always notice these things. At least as much as you notice where the puck is each game. Although you've been slacking on that too, lately. Keep your eyes on the ice, Barton, not the fans. You guys will start losing again if you don't. I'll see you later tonight." 

And then she took off towards the women's locker room, leaving him dumbfounded and wholly unprepared for the practice session that was about to begin. 

\--- 

She hadn't meant to mention her uncle, just like she hadn't meant to show off with a bunch of fancy moves on the ice. But it had felt so good to let go for once, to let herself enjoy skating just for skating's sake. She hadn't done that in such a long time. 

Being with Clint made her want all kinds of things she thought she'd given up wanting long ago. 

Is that what falling in love was like? She didn't have a lot of experience with emotions like love -- her uncle had drilled them out of her as a child -- but she rather thought the answer was yes. 

As she watched him play that night, she thought about it a lot, and decided yes, this must be love. Which is why, when she went to meet him as he came off the ice, she didn't even bother with a greeting, just launched herself at him and kissed him soundly. 

The move was greeted by a mumbled grunt of approval from Clint, and catcalls from his teammates. Natasha blushed and ducked her head against his shoulder. 

"Oh my God, I can't believe I just did that. And in front of the whole team," she groaned. 

"I can't either," Clint chuckled. "I haven't even had the chance to shower yet. Hey, cut it out, Cap! It's not like Sharon's never stopped by to lay one on you after a win." 

"Yes, but Sharon and I are married, not just ogling each other across the ice arena each game." 

"They noticed that too?" Natasha asked, her voice so low only he could hear it. 

"Honey, I told you that first night that you're memorable." He tipped her chin up and gave her a quick peck. "Why don't you wait outside while I shower and stuff? I can be ready in about fifteen minutes or so. Then we can get out of here and away from these jerks." 

Said jerks just smiled and whistled as Natasha ducked back out to the main concourse to wait. What was happening to her? She wasn't normally this woman who did foolish and impulsive things. She was cool and reserved, thinking things through before acting on them. 

But this … this _thing_ , whether she called it love or lust or both, was addling her brain.

By the time Clint joined her a little while later, still damp from his shower, she'd regained her composure. And when he threw an arm around her shoulders, she didn't do anything more than lean into him a little as they headed out to the parking garage. Except he smelled so good, like soap and shampoo and warm male and… No, she wasn't going to kiss him like that again, especially while they were still anywhere near the ice arena. If she started, she wouldn't be able to stop, and ravishing him in the car park would be a bad idea all around.

"Hey, any chance I can get a ride home on that bike of yours?" he asked, pulling her out of her reverie.

"What about your car?"

He shrugged and ducked his head sheepishly. 

"I got a ride in with Cap."

Ah, so he'd planned this. The idea made her feel warm all over, and she had to remind herself they were still at the arena. No more kissing, not yet. Instead, she gave him a playful shove. 

"Am I going to get razzed by the team for the bike too?"

"Maybe?" He shrugged again. "More likely, they'll razz _me_ about it. The big, bad hockey forward holding on for dear life."

She groaned and he pulled her a little tighter against his side.

"Hey, there aren't that many gorgeous redheads cruising around town on motorcycles," he said with a big grin before he sobered a bit. "Believe it or not, they're good guys. They're just looking out for me."

"I know," she replied. 

They wound up at his apartment, settling in comfortably to devour a take out pizza. While they ate, Natasha finally confessed about a bit about her past.

She told him about her uncle and how he had pushed her into competitive figure skating. About her one really big, failed relationship, and how she'd been desperate to get away from everything related to ice skating afterwards. 

He listened quietly and nodded, then told her about his father and brother, how he'd learned to shoot an arrow, how Coulson had found him on the streets and helped him turn his life around.

Later, after they were all talked out, they wound up on his couch, cuddling and making out like teenagers. When she fell asleep against his shoulder, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

\---

Clint was having his weekly breakfast with Coulson at the little diner just off the highway when he finally got the nerve to ask about Natasha. 

"What do you know about a figure skater named Romanova?" 

Coulson knew everyone there was to know, on or off the ice. If there was something to know about her, he'd know it. 

"Natalia Romanova?"

"Yeah."

"Red Room," he answered immediately. "Stay away from her. Nothing good ever comes from the Red Room."

Clint's brows knit together. 

"Why? What's the Red Room?"

"It's a training arena for Russian athletes. Hockey, figure skating, speed skating, you name it. The owner and chief trainer is not known for his tolerance or goodwill. No athlete from the Red Room ever loses."

"Ever?"

"Not that I've heard of."

"What if they did?"

"They don't. They don't lose and they don't ever leave." Coulson stopped slathering his toast with butter and looked at him curiously. "Why do you want to know about this stuff? You're usually little Miss Mary Sunshine, regaling me with stories about your archery brats."

"Just wondering," Clint hedged. What Coulson had said made a lot of sense and fit perfectly with the things Natasha had told him the night before.

Coulson stared at him intently, and then sat back in the booth, eyes wide. 

"It's her. The redhead from the games that you're smitten with."

Clint ducked his head a bit. 

"Yeah."

"Clint…"

"Listen, I didn't know she was Red Room when I met her. And she's out of the skating game now, anyhow. She's doing computer system stuff for some guy named Nicholas Fury," Clint said in a low voice.

Coulson breathed out a sigh of relief and relaxed a little. 

"Nick Fury, you say?"

He nodded. 

"Yeah."

"Fury hires a lot of former athletes. Has a lot of government connections. If she's working for him, she probably is well and truly away from the Red Room. I didn't even know that was possible," Coulson mused. "Just be careful, Clint, ok? Don't fall in love and get your heart broken."

"I think it may be too late for that."

"Well, crap."

\---

They'd been skirting around taking their relationship to a more physical level in a deliberate effort to get to know each other better first. Which is why the plan for this evening had been to meet at Clint's apartment, head out to dinner, and then see where things went from there. But Natasha was done with waiting for things she wanted, and the plan flew out the window as soon as he opened his door, barefoot and rumpled and looking like he'd just woken up from a nap. 

God, but he looked good.

"Hey!" he greeted. "Are you early? Or am I late? Sorry... whoa!"

For the second time in as many nights, she threw herself at him, kissing him fiercely. He let her, laughing as she pushed him up against the wall next to the door. 

"What happened to dinner?"

"Forget dinner," she mumbled, kissing his neck and pulling at his t-shirt to run her hands across the naked skin of his torso. "Dessert first."

He groaned and buried his hands in her curls, pulling her mouth up to his for a long, slow kiss. 

"You sure? I don't want to rush you..."

"Very sure," she said, pulling his shirt all the way off and then stepping back for a moment to pull her own over her head. She was glad she'd gone for the nicer lingerie tonight. It was nothing overtly sexy or over the top, but enough that he'd appreciate the effort. 

And he did, very much so, if the heated look he was giving her was anything to go by. His eyes went wide as he took in the sight of her. 

"Uh… Wow."

"Which way is your bedroom?" she asked, bracing herself against his shoulder and reaching down to pull off her boots and socks.

His eyes went even wider, especially when she shimmied out of her jeans and was left in nothing but black lace and cotton. 

"Seriously?"

She stopped. Wasn't that where tonight was heading anyhow? Isn't this where it had been heading since that first explosive kiss in the parking lot of the pub? He wasn't just a pretty face across the ice anymore; he was so much more, and she was done with waiting.

"Yes," she answered, sure and confident in her decision. She wanted him, desperately. "Do you have condoms?"

He made a strangled little noise, and she grinned and gave him a quick, wet kiss.

"You're killing me here," he answered, maneuvering them down the hall and into the bedroom. "Condoms are in the nightstand."

"Excellent." 

They made fast work of his clothes and tumbled onto the bed together, breaking apart only long enough for her to grab a foil packet from the box and sheathe him in it. It was hard and fast and over way too soon, but she was ok with that. They had all night to take it slow, to learn each other.

"I think we're doing this backwards," he grumbled good-naturedly, after he had taken care of the used condom and climbed back in bed. He fell back against the pillows, pulling her over next to him until she was half draped across his body. 

"There's an order to it?" she teased, sliding her hand down to the juncture of his thighs. "Hand A touches Part B, and so on and so on?"

He swatted her hand away. 

"I'm serious. I'm supposed to woo you with dinner dates and romantic evenings. Instead --"

"We're in bed, deliciously naked and enjoying each other's company? I'm ok with that," she said, leaning in and giving him another kiss.

He pulled away again and she frowned. 

"I _want_ to woo you," he protested.

He was serious. He wanted to woo her, to wine and dine her, and treat her to nice things. No one had ever wanted to do that for her before. Never. 

There were so many things she wanted to say to him. Thank you, for seeing her and not the girl she used to be; for not shying away from her lurid past, but instead sharing his own with her; for holding her and cherishing her and and wanting _her_. 

More than anything, she wanted to say _I love you_. She wanted to say it so much. But the words got locked in her throat, and all she could do was lean in and kiss him again, hoping that he could feel in his heart what she was feeling in hers.

When he didn't protest this time, but instead deepened the kiss and pressed her back down against the mattress, she simply wound her arms around him and prayed that he understood.

\--- 

When Clint woke up, he was alone. The only hint that Natasha had been there the night before was the vague scent of her that clung to his skin and a stray red hair on the pillow next to him. Rolling over, he groaned as a slant of sunlight hit him straight in the eyes.

"Nat?" he called out, and when there was no answer forthcoming, he reluctantly got out of bed and padded toward the bathroom. "Natasha?" 

Still nothing. There was a small toothpaste stain on the sink, but damned if he knew if it was fresh or leftover from last week. He wasn't exactly the best housekeeper. He'd been lucky his sheets were still fairly clean when Natasha had tumbled him into bed last night.

"Hey, Nat," he called, as he headed for the kitchen, only to find that room empty too. Where'd she go?

The coffee was still warm in the pot, so she couldn't have been gone long. He poured himself a mug and leaned back against the counter to think while he drank it. Had she mentioned anything about an early morning meeting? He knew her job was pretty flexible and let her set most of the hours. They hadn't done a whole lot of talking last night, but he was sure she would have mentioned it if she'd had to be up early. 

Or had something scared her off?

With a sigh, he pushed off the counter and headed toward his bedroom to get dressed. It was while he was sniffing the t-shirt from last night to see if it was still wearable that he saw the purple post-it stuck to the small mirror above his dresser. 

_Had to go. Promise to call soon! xo  
N ~_

Which told him a whole heck of a lot of nothing. 

Shrugging into the shirt and a pair of sweatpants, he laced up a pair of sneakers and headed out for a run. The cool air was bracing as he started out on his usual route, his thoughts churning. 

Last night had been amazing. Natasha was beautiful and exhilarating and more than he'd ever dreamed of in a woman. So what was this morning's disappearing act about? 

Was she second-guessing the decision to sleep with him? He didn't think so, but as much as he'd learned about her recently, there were still big gaps in his knowledge of her. She'd hinted at some unwise decisions in her past, after she had left the Red Room and made a life for herself. Did she think he was another one? 

He liked to think he'd shown her he wasn't a mistake. He'd made his own share of bad decisions in the past; he was sure, dead sure, that she wasn't one of them. But maybe she wasn't as sure. Maybe she needed to hear him say it, to tell her how much this relationship had grown to mean to him.

He finished his four mile loop and headed for home. A quick glance at his phone showed no new messages and only one new text, from Cap. Setting down the phone, he hopped in the shower. If she hadn't called or texted by the time he was done, he'd call her himself.

\---

Natasha was having a very bad week.

First, she'd had to sneak out of Clint's apartment after their amazing night together because she'd forgotten about an insanely early morning meeting. It had seemed unfair to wake him up on his one day off just because of her error, so she'd left with a post-it stuck to his mirror, and hoped he'd understand when she called at a more reasonable hour to explain.

Except she never got a chance to call because her phone mysteriously died, inexplicably wiping out everything with it. Maria tried to fix it, but declared it a lost cause. She thought maybe it was some experimental tech of Stark's which caused the meltdown. With a shrug and a sympathetic look, she told Natasha there was absolutely no way to retrieve any of the data and she'd have to start over from scratch. 

Frustrated, she sped over to Clint's place at the end of the day, only to the have the sweet old lady who lived next door inform her that the handsome young hockey player had left with an overnight bag and all his equipment about an hour earlier. With a curse, she realized she'd forgotten they had away games in Virginia this week. With no phone, she'd have no way to get in touch with him until the team got back into town. 

Why, oh why, had she not thought to get the number for any of his teammates, too? Although, it wouldn't have helped out much, what with the fried phone and all.

So she wasn't surprised when, late on Friday afternoon, Fury grabbed her and asked for a full report on what was going on at Stark Industries. 

It was like the universe was trying to teach her a lesson or something.

Natasha wound up staying late, giving him the update on their systems upgrade. By the time she left the office and navigated the horrendous weekend traffic to get to the arena, she found she'd missed the entire first period.

And on top of that, the guy at the entrance to her seating area didn't want to let her in.

"Natasha Romanoff," she repeated, annoyed at having yet another obstacle put in her way. "I have permission from Tony Stark to sit here."

The man -- Rumlow, his name tag said -- smirked. 

"You think you're the first pretty girl to use Stark's name to get one of the premium seats? Get outta here! No ticket, no seat."

With a growl of impatience, she turned and headed back out to the concourse. Guess she was watching from Stark's suite tonight. Or at least she hoped she was. There was no guarantee Stark would be there.

But luck was on her side, finally, and Stark himself held the door open wide as soon as she knocked. 

"Natasha! Great to see you. Thought you liked the seats downstairs better? Oh, but who cares? You're here. Have a seat." He turned his attention back to the ice. "Dammit! See that one? Number 16? Barton. He's usually my star player. He's tanking tonight." 

She couldn't hide her dismayed look or the hint of longing in her expression.

"Oh my God! You've got a thing for him. The forward. Does he have a thing for you too?" At her guilty expression, he asked, "Is that why we're losing? Well, what are you still doing here? Get your butt down to the locker room and fix things! Otherwise my team is going to lose and I do not take losing well."

\---

She wasn't at the game. 

That had been the first thing he noticed as soon as he skated out onto the ice. It was also the biggest contributing factor to how much he was screwing up now. Odinson and Banner were doing their best, but without Clint's skill in keeping the puck down at the other end of the ice, the opposing team had gotten way too many shots in.

As a result, Rogers had benched him, with a sympathetic look and a stern warning that he'd better get his head in the game. But Clint was having a hard time doing so. Instead of paying attention to the game, he was staring dejectedly at the empty section of seating directly across from the team and trying valiantly to ignore the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

It wasn't really working.

At first, he'd put Natasha's disappearance down to a simple miscommunication. But he'd tried calling her number a dozen times since last weekend and his calls never even made it as far as voicemail, just ended in dead air. 

He knew he should have put a stop to things. They were still getting to know each other, and while he was very certain of his feelings for her, he had no idea what her feelings for him were. She'd hinted at love, or the start of something like love, but everything she'd told him about her past indicated she didn't have a lot of experience with emotions like that. Maybe what she called love was actually just lust, and now that she'd slept with him, she'd decided that it didn't matter.

The buzzer rang, shaking him out of his thoughts, and he morosely followed the rest of the team towards the locker room, skates clicking on the concrete. 

"Barton, is that not your lady?" Odinson asked, pointing in the direction of the hallway.

Clint turned and there she was, her bright hair wild about her delicate face, her eyes serious, and her entire stance making her look… nervous? He pushed down the feeling of hopefulness that rose in his chest. A week. It had been a week since she'd seen him, called him, or gotten in touch with him in any way. Just because she was standing there now didn't mean a thing. It especially didn't mean that she'd missed him as much as he'd missed her.

They stood there staring at each other for the longest time, before Roger's authoritative voice broke the silence that had settled over the whole team. 

"Guys? Let's give them a minute." 

The players grumbled, but they respected their Captain too much to ignore him, so when he herded them back into the locker room, they went, and Clint was left alone with her, wondering where they’d go from here.

\---

"Hey," Clint greeted her coolly. "Glad you could stop by to cheer the team on after all. Or are you here for a little post-game sex? Maybe cheer up the losers? You're a little early, we still have another period to go."

She stared at him, perplexed. Where was the man she'd met not two weeks before? The man she'd spent the night with? 

When she didn't answer, he glanced up briefly from adjusting his skate and then went back to working on it, ignoring her confused expression. 

"What?"

"What's going on?" she asked, so quietly she wondered if he even heard her.

He must have, however, because he finally looked up at her, the expression on his face mirroring her bafflement. 

"I don't know. You tell me. We had what I thought was a spectacular night and then you left and have been radio silent since."

"My phone," she started.

"What? Lost all contact information and backup?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

His response to that was a disbelieving snort, and her patience started to evaporate.

"Something of Stark's fried everything connected to my phone. If I'd had your number listed anywhere else, I'd have called or texted or something." At his continued silence, she said, "I missed you."

"Didn't feel like it," he mumbled.

"I did!"

"Uh-huh." 

And still he wouldn't fully look at her.

"I'm not good at this, dammit!" she snapped. "I had one real relationship before this one, and it crashed and burned in a spectacular way. And I'm still not sure if it was because of me or Yakov or my uncle or just one of those things that happens when you're sixteen years old, because I had nothing to compare it to! Until you. What I feel for you is so much more than that ever was and… say something!"

"Did you just say this was a real relationship?" he asked.

She had the urge to stomp her foot like a petulant child. 

"Yes. Haven't you been listening?"

"I think maybe I wasn't listening enough," he admitted. "Your phone was fried?"

"Complete and total annihilation. Stark's got some pretty crazy tech."

"I'm sorry," he said, pulling her down onto his lap and hugging her close.

"I'm sorry, too," she whispered, leaning her forehead against his. It didn't matter that he was a sweaty mess or that it was the middle of a game. "I'm sorry I had to run out on you the other morning. Sorry I didn't work harder to get in touch with you. Sorry I didn't trust myself enough the other night to tell you…"

"Tell me?" he prompted.

She raised her head and looked him directly in the eye. 

"I love you."

The smile that appeared on his face was nothing if not amazing. 

"I love you, too. It's crazy and insane --"

"But completely right?" she asked with a wide smile.

"Yeah." 

They sat there with matching goofy smiles on their faces, until they heard a soft cough from a few feet away.

"Uh, guys?" Rogers was standing there, an embarrassed expression on his face. "C'mon, don't make me say it. Sharon's already gonna kill me when I tell her I had to break this up."

"Say what, Cap?" Clint asked, never once taking his eyes from hers. 

"Intermission's almost up. Two minutes until the last period. We have to get back on the ice."

Clint offered her another dopey, lovesick smile, then gave her a quick kiss and a little push off his lap. 

"Is that how you're going to treat me now?" she teased, giving him a little nudge of her own with her shoulder.

"It is when I have a hockey game to finish. You gonna watch?"

"There was a little… problem… with my usual seating," she confessed.

"Cap?" he asked, with a quick glance over his shoulder. 

"Yeah?"

"Any chance you can convince the arena staff to let her stand near the entrance to the ice for the last period?"

Steve sighed. 

"Will that get you out there any quicker?"

Clint grinned at him. 

"It might."

"Fine."

Clint turned back to face her, a huge grin on his face. 

"One last kiss for luck?"

She smiled and stood on tiptoe to reach him. 

"Absolutely."

\---

When he got back out on the ice, with her there cheering him on once again, he knew he'd finally won, no matter what the score turned out to be.

**Author's Note:**

> [Title](https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjGorWeyt7MAhVeGlIKHXNVA_wQtwIIHDAA&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DXtmHymkg1J4&usg=AFQjCNFA6qqFk3KGithyjQgXaL9z7KalSQ&sig2=1bsP29rG3aHKjM8jgwnVlg&bvm=bv.122129774,d.aXo) taken from the love theme from The Cutting Edge. (No one is surprised, right?)


End file.
